Chapter 10

HE DIDN'T announce himself right away. He was hoping to catch Miss Emma alone in the kitchen, so he could hand off the coat without his mother knowing, which he did. After Miss Emma had bullied Bramble into his naughty-puppy look as he slunk back out of the kitchen with his tail between his legs, she turned her scowl on Lucas.

"This coat smells of pub." She gave him *that* look, the one where Lucas couldn't quite tell if she was scowling or smirking.

Well, yes, of course it smells of pub, because I was at a pub and so was my coat, Lucas meant to say--because really, Lucas, let's be at least a tiny bit mature about this--but what ended up coming out was more like "Oh. Well. Um. Huh, what do you know."

He suffered through the familiar sighs of long-suffering--and a rather tight-lipped rebuke of concern for the plaster on his cheek--with what he hoped was the proper appearance of contrition and then accepted a steaming cup of spiced tea with genuine gratitude.

"Don't thank me." Miss Emma was definitely smirking now. "Thank Mister Booker and his complete lack of shame."

Ha. Lucas thanked Alex's complete lack of shame quite often. But probably not in the way Miss Emma meant.

"What did he bribe you with this time?"

Miss Emma grinned, her wrinkled face pulling into a set that turned it girlish, her brown eyes sparkling. Alex had that effect on people. "His father has a box at the Heather Run Theater, you know."

Yes, Lucas did know. He and Alex had rather... broken it in once or twice. And Alex had managed to very discreetly and very quietly out-perform even the Queen's Royal Players.

Lucas wisely didn't mention any of that.

"Mister Booker's promised it to me when His Gentle Heart debuts next month." Emma was very nearly trilling like a girl. "And somehow got your mother to offer the dress she wore to your-cousin-the-Queen's last birthday party, *and* a string of pearls for the evening."

Alex, you dog. That would be worth the jacket cleaning, and several favors to be disclosed at need.

Lucas grinned. "I see I'm not the only one Mister Booker spoils."

Which was good, because Miss Emma deserved to be spoiled. Lucas couldn't pay her nearly what she was worth, but his father had hired her before Lucas was even born. Lucas had grown up with her--they all had. Miss Emma was a part of the family, and thankfully, she seemed to have no interest in changing her situation.

Miss Emma sniffed, though the twinkle didn't go away. "No, but he spoils you the worst. Which, I imagine, might make up for your lady-mum."

"Oh, drat!" Lucas gulped the tea. He'd nearly forgotten that Alex would be at the mercy of not only Laurie, but Mother, as well. "Where are they?"

Emma patted Lucas's cheek as she took the cup back and threw the coat over her shoulder with a wrinkle of her nose. "In the sunroom. No worries--last I was by, His Young Majesty was the one on the block."

"Oh?" Lucas couldn't help the wicked little smirk. Mother wouldn't actually beat Laurie, but he'd slouch away wishing she had.

Bramble followed Lucas down the hallway and to the doors of the sunroom. Lucas really shouldn't allow it--Mother didn't like Bramble in the house--but Bramble was doing his very best to be sneaky and quiet, toenails hardly even clicking against the marble flooring, and Lucas didn't have the heart to ruin it for him. He merely held out his hand behind him to halt Bramble and then paused at the edge of the doorjamb, gauging the atmosphere before braving the room.

"... didn't actually blow it up," Laurie was saying. "I just sort of... didn't *not* blow it up."

Lucas didn't even want to know what that was about.

"There, you see, Madame Tripp? By Laurie's clever use of a double negative, he's completely cancelled out the fact that anything was blown up at all." Good old Alex. Only he could placate and instigate at the same time. "And no one used that old baking shed anyway, right, Laurie? You're looking a little peaky. There, shall I get you more tea?"

Ah, so that was what had happened to what was more of a baking hall than a baking shed, and which Lucas knew was neither "old" nor in danger of disuse. Lucas had heard that there'd been an accident at the castle last week with some dragon's breath powder, but he'd just assumed it was one of Cr醱a's spells gone wrong. Because--silly as it seemed now--it had never even occurred to Lucas that anyone in their right mind would ever allow Laurie anywhere near anything explosive. Or sharp. Or important.

"No, Alex, thank you," Laurie said through what sounded like a sunny smile wrapped around tightly clenched teeth. "I would, however, be interested to know what you've done to my favorite cousin, and how it is you're apparently unscathed when Lucas looks like he's been rowing with cutthroats and ruffians."

Wait, what?

"What?" cried Mother. "What's happened to my baby boy?!"

"Nothing's happened, Madame Tripp, honestly, it's only a little scratch, nothing to worry about."

Oh. Right. The bush. Stupid thorns. Stupid Laurie.

"Lucas! Lucas Tripp!"

"Yes, Lucas, come in here," Laurie called. "Stop hiding out in the hallway and come let your mother take care of you."

Lucas was rather surprised the Glare of Death wasn't melting the lenses of his spectacles and burning a hole through the wall and right between Laurie's eyes. He squared his shoulders and put on a smile as he stepped into the room, only barely keeping his feet when his mother sailed out of her chair and came at him like a very elegant, silk- and lace-draped battleship.

"What have you done to your lovely face?" She took Lucas by the shoulders and shoved his face into her bosom. "Oh, I *knew* you shouldn't be down in that dangerous little house all by yourself with that treacherous loft and all that splintery wood, and that dreadful cat! Was it the cat? It was the cat, wasn't it? Oh my poor baby, let me look at you."

She shoved Lucas back again with enough force that his spectacles slipped down to totter at the end of his nose.

"It's a scratch." Lucas's voice came out a little bit desperate, though he'd never admit it, because then Laurie would think he'd won, and that was just unacceptable. "And I didn't even get it at h--my house is *not* dangerous, Mother, for pity's sake. I was only being clumsy, that's all, and you know, you're really kind of hurting my arms a little, and really, *how* are you so strong?"

Mother didn't appear to have heard any of it--she gripped harder. "You're moving back in here straight away, and you're putting that awful creature right back out in the barns where it belongs. Alex Booker." She turned an imperious glare across the room. "What in the world were you doing while that horrible monster was attacking my son?"

Alex gulped. Lucas didn't blame him--anyone would. "It wasn't--"

"Yes, Alex." Laurie said it with a tilt of his head and really quite a believable indignant glare, considering he was an evil Goblin King. "What *were* you doing while Lucas was being attacked by that horrible, awful fiend and almost losing an eye?"

Mother's glance snapped back to the plaster on Lucas's cheek, then widened, even as her grip tightened another notch. She was cutting off circulation now. Forget the eye, Lucas was going to lose an arm, he just knew it.